Darling, Dearest, Dead
by Emilia Atwood
Summary: The Opera Ghost is long gone but Erik still remains. Wandering the streets of modern-day France, Erik now serves a sentence where death is a constant in his life. But his verdict also becomes a chance at redemption when he crosses paths with Simone, a girl whose fated intervention in his life makes him a witness to how both love and karma can transcend the past and death itself.
1. Before

Author's Note: So I know that I still have one more story going on but this idea just sounded _way_ too good in my head. Just a heads up that this is a different kind of beast from my other ongoing Phanfic but I hope you guys still enjoy this one as much as you did my other story, maybe even more. I know I'm going to have a lot of fun writing this so I hope you do too when reading!

On another note, I don't really appreciate dumps of info near the start of a story, so don't expect a lot of exposition since I won't be revealing the reasons behind things right off the bat. This fic's for those who prefer a slow burn story, much like myself.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters and settings from the book by Gaston Leroux, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the movie by Joel Schumacher. I do not claim any ownership over the characters and settings created and owned by them. The same goes for any lyrics and snippets of literature that I will be using ― they all belong to their respective writers. I only own the original characters of my own invention and most of the plot. And I say most of the plot because this work was dominantly inspired by/based on/borrowed from Guardian: The Lonely And Great God by Studio Dragon.

* * *

Here is a small fact:  
You are going to die.

― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

* * *

Vapors of frosted breath escaped his parted lips as he heaved a silent sigh. It was evidence of just how cold it was at that very moment, every inch of the ground blanketed by the white harshness of winter. The frost was soft under his boots, stark white against his black ensemble and contrasting the sky above him. He glanced up and saw the heavens watching him from above, a dark canvas dotted with the stars in their multitudes. On any other night, he would've gladly spent the hours just standing under the ink-like darkness that permeated the skies, relishing his place in the night where he belonged. But tonight's agenda would not allow him that pleasure. Tonight, he would have to do his job.

The cards felt heavy in his pocket, weighing his heart down as he stared at the scene before him. Even after more than a century of walking the earth, it seemed that he just couldn't prove himself to be as cold-hearted as he liked to think himself to be. No, there was always that small vine of compassion that refused to unlatch from his heart, its thorns pricking him during times like this.

The blanket of snow before him was stained by the crimson of blood, a horrifying amount of it seeping away from the woman on the ground. She clung weakly to life, barely holding on while death stood before her. The pale skin of her cheeks were streaked with tears, quiet sobs escaping her throat as she lied limp against the snow. Her hair, a golden shade, was streaked with the red of her own blood. One hand was sprawled on her side while the other sat atop her stomach.

If not for the second card that hid behind the pocket of his coat, he wouldn't know that the woman was with child. Almost imperceptible was the swell of the woman's stomach, a bump of four months hidden beneath her navy winter coat. He felt it there, the unmistakable throb of life slowly ebbing away with each passing second. It was such a waste, to see life fade away before it could even begin. But who was he to question the schemes of death? He was only a mere servant, a herald.

The woman's green eyes were glazed over, a glassy look that was near the point of cracking with the desperation that swam in her gaze. Unless he wanted and willed it, the woman was unable to see him, even if he stood a mere two feet away from her bleeding and broken physique.

"H-help . . . please, my-my child-" her voice cracked, the sound of it twisting the knife that was already buried in his chest.

A cool breeze blew in his direction, biting his skin with the cold of winter. But the chills that rode down his spine came from the words that left the woman's lips. Even he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the ending of this woman's story and that of her child's, a tragic end that he was almost sure they didn't deserve. All because of the careless error of a cab driver in the dead of the night.

He felt his jaw clench, his pulse escalate. The reckless ways of the human race truly knew no bounds, and this was not the first time that he had a front row ticket in witnessing the spectacle that was the folly of humans.

He had been human too, once. But now he wasn't, and he had a job to finish.

One gloved hand reached into the pocket of his coat where he grasped the two envelopes sitting there. They were white and free of any creases, much like the envelopes that he used during his days as a ghost. He opened both and fished out the black cards that each one held. The cards were not made of any ordinary paper but of card stock, colored black with the names they contained embossed in gold, print letters. The names of the the woman and her unborn child before him.

He sucked in a steadying breath, studying the first card. Written on it was the woman's name while the second one had her child's. Or, more specifically, her daughter.

The vine tightened its hold around his heart once more as he tore his gaze away from the cards and towards the dying woman, her eyes raised to the skies as a feeble whisper left her lips. But he heard her words with perfect clarity, and they were sharp enough to cut through him.

"Please, n-not like this . . . my baby . . ."

To hear dying wishes were not uncommon. In fact, such words had become all too familiar to him at that point. A human's last words wasted as a plead to live another day, a beg for another chance. Last words that always went unheard because death was cruel like that, but also ultimately fair. However, death was not there at the moment. There was only Erik, alone with the dying woman and her unborn child.

And no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he could not push it out of his mind that this woman deserved a second chance at life. Not for herself but for the child that she was carrying. Because witnessing such selflessness at a person's last moments was a rare glimpse of heaven in the wicked world he was currently residing in. And damn him if he was going to turn a deaf ear to this woman's dying wish, consequences be damned too.

But for the child to live, the woman also had to.

The cards he held in his hands now didn't seem as heavy as they were moments ago. At this, he felt his heart stutter, a spark of hope making its home in his chest, warming him. It was something he hadn't felt in a long time, and feeling it now seemed so surreal. Indeed, he'd seen his fair share of things that were far stranger than hope, but something about it never ceased to amaze and terrify him at the same time. How could it not? It was both capable of filling the empty spaces in what was left of his soul and prolonging the torment he was going through. Hope - it was something he thought he could never be capable of feeling ever again.

Yet there it was, present beyond question and doubt as he set himself once more on the path that would lead past the point of no return.

Because what he was about to do meant defying death and upsetting the course of nature itself, of ancient powers that the human mind could not begin to fathom.

In another of his pockets sat a lighter, a plain, silver one that he always kept within his person despite having no foreseeable use for it. Until now. Now he could see why his gut always told him to carry it, why he never doubted the voice in his head that told him to keep it when he found it in the corner of a street one night. He retrieved it from his pocket with his free hand while he kept his gaze on the woman bleeding red against the white snow. Here he was, bearing witness to the scene before him as he turned to what was supposed to be the last page of the book that told her story. It was not a beautiful sight but that didn't mean things couldn't change for the better from that moment on. Not if he could do something about it.

Curling his fingers around the lighter, he flicked the lid open from it as he held the two black cards near it. Using his thumb, he rolled down the metal spark wheel into the ignition button. There, he held his thumb down to keep it in place. A small flame flickered to life before his eyes, breathing in the air around him as it danced against the cold brush of winter. He only had a second to admire the brightness of the small tongue of fire before he raised the first card above it.

The card caught fire and began to burn. Next was the second card, the one that had written on it the unborn child's name.

He flicked the lid back into its place before he pocketed the lighter. In one hand, he held both black cards, engulfed in the sea of flames that was devouring them. Even as the fire neared his fingers that held the cards, the heat was impervious to him, thanks to the black leather gloves he always wore. But as the flames ate away the cards, he could feel his stomach drop as his heart clenched, suffocating him for a moment. A thousand voices screamed at him to stop but he never wavered. Chills crawled beneath his skin, eating and clawing at him, but he ignored it all. His eyes never left the cards until he was sure that the inferno he created had left nothing but ashes in its wake, the black card stocks reduced to nothing. The embers drifted down towards the blanket of snow on the ground before disappearing in the cold, leaving not a single trace.

Silence filled the air before it was broken.

The woman let out a gasp, a loud and vigorous one, as if she was sucking in back all the life that had escaped her earlier. Her breathing grew rapid, the fall and rise of her chest growing erratic before slowing down to a normal pace. The haze in her green eyes was lifted, bringing back their piercing sheen as she stared at the heavens above her. The color came back to her cheeks, her skin no longer a pallid shade of gray. They were all the results of what he had done, all indications that she and her child were going to survive after all.

He could feel it so, magic and mystery stirring in the winter air around him as they tugged at the powers he was imbued with. The atmosphere changed, the stars shined brighter, his heart grew lighter. A weight was lifted from his chest as he stared at the stirring form of the woman on the ground. And he knew then and there that both mother and child would live to see another day.

People would see this as a miracle, but the simple truth was that this was the doing of a reaper who had gone against the orders of his master, death.

With one last glance at the woman, Erik turned his back to her and silently walked away into the night.


	2. Stranger Things

Author's Note: This update came a year after the first chapter was posted. That's never gonna happen again, I promise. On another note, believe me when I say that even if this story's set in the present, it's different from the others that people have written for this category. I'd never write something that I didn't think could bring something new and fresh to readers ― after all, I take great delight in surprising my readers all with something that they either haven't seen before or cannot predict. Feedback is always appreciated so don't forget to leave a review!

* * *

...But the rain  
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh  
Upon the glass and listen for reply;

― Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

I hated Monday mornings. But then again, I had yet to meet someone who could wholeheartedly admit that they loved Mondays. It was the day when I had to return to school, the same place where I did not only have to deal with tyrannical teachers or some of the uppity members of the drama club, but also the shadows that haunted and prowled around the school grounds. All in all, every day that was a school day always proved to be an interesting one, whether it was in a good way or a bad way.

This particular Monday morning found me leaning against the side of one of the school buildings, a safe spot to be from any wandering eyes. A glance at my watch told me that I still had ten minutes to go before classes would start. I had a cigarette dangling between my fingertips when I heard my name being called in the distance.

"Simone!"

My first reaction had been to drop my cigarette so I could immediately get rid of it. But then I recognized the voice belonging to a friendly and not to anyone who could report or reprimand me for smoking on the school grounds, something that was prohibited. I trained my gaze further and saw a familiar face jogging towards me, their bleached hair tied up in a ponytail.

Beatrice skidded to a halt before me after a good minute of running. "Well, well, look who we have here. I've been looking for you," she panted out. "We gotta go to class now, genius."

"Calm down, we still have a few minutes," I answered before taking a drag from my cigarette.

She breathed in deeply to catch her breath again but then gave a cough when I exhaled smoke. "It's ten ― _gugh_. Jeez, Simone. You're not even supposed to be doing that here."

I arched a playful brow at her. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"You put that out right now before I do it myself," she snarked back before taking a step towards me, her hands charging for my cigarette. However, being smaller than me, Beatrice failed in her endeavor when I simply raised my arm, putting my cigarette well out of her reach.

"Stop it, you hobbit!" I chuckled, swatting her hands away. "It's my last one so just let me be."

"I'll buy you a new one on the way home," Beatrice tried to bribe me, but I just shook my head with a scoff. "C'mon, Simone! Class is about to start."

I then took one last drag from my cigarette before I dropped it on the ground and crushed it with the tip of my shoe. I shouldered my messenger bag before Beatrice took my wrist and dragged me away from my spot. As we left the side of the building and made our way to the doors, I sucked in one last lungful of the cool morning air before we went in.

A rather chaotic stream of students was in the hallway when we entered, and we let ourselves be pulled into the current until we reached our lockers. The chatter coming from other kids slightly irritated me ― I mean, what kind of topic could be so interesting enough to inspire such noise on a Monday morning of all the days of the week? I could understand if it was Friday, but that was still days from now.

"Good God, a lot of people are chatty this morning," I commented as I began to tinker with the lock on my locker. "On any other Monday morning, everyone would be walking through these halls like zombies."

Beatrice was already rummaging through her locker when she answered, "Gossip says that the dance club saw the ballet room's doors shut right in front of them while they were trying to leave the place last Saturday. Their rehearsal lasted 'til seven at night."

Though Beatrice spoke with an air of nonchalance, being someone who didn't easily buy into our school's many ghost stories, something about what she just told me rubbed me in the wrong way. But I shrugged the feeling off, not wanting to worry myself at such an early hour. Besides, I had heard of stranger things happening, even experienced a handful of such myself.

"Someone just ought to exorcise this place already," I answered as I opened my locker and began to thumb through my books.

"By the way, did any talks happen over the weekend?" Beatrice then asked, the sudden change of topic nearly catching me off guard. "Y'know, about the musical. The whole school's still waiting for our decision."

I tried not to groan at the new subject that Beatrice brought up. I had been trying so hard not to think about the drama club, which I was a part of, the whole morning so I wouldn't have to stress over the current debate that was ongoing among us members. Since our club's annual play was just months away, it was only understandable that the whole school would be waiting for our decision. The problem was, we had yet to arrive at a consensus regarding what musical we were going to perform this year.

"No. There was radio silence in the group chat the whole weekend," I answered truthfully.

"That was real? I thought my phone was just acting up when I saw that I wasn't getting any notifications from the club." Beatrice was also a member of the drama club, though she ranked lower than me seeing as I was the vice president of the club.

"That's 'cause whenever the matter is brought up, it always ends in a fight 'cause some people are just too damn _passionate_ about the musicals they love," I retorted with a roll of my eyes. I grabbed a few books from my locker before shoving them into my bag. I glanced at my watch and saw that there were five minutes to go.

"Well, you can't blame us," Beatrice answered with a shit-eating grin.

"You guys could at least keep calm about it whenever we go over the choices," I snapped, recalling how one member of the club had gone on with a ten-minute speech about how _Moulin Rouge!_ was the best musical to have ever existed during one of our last meetings. I would have agreed with her if she hadn't ended up shouting at another member for not agreeing with her opinion.

"Hey, I'm always calm," Beatrice snickered as she closed the door of her locker.

"Yeah, I really don't remember having to hold you in place when Liam said that _Les Misérables_ was a terrible film," I said, arching a brow at her as I mentioned the name of one of her favorite musicals.

Beatrice's face contorted in aggravation ― alright, here we go. " _But it's not!_ It's a great film with a great cast―"

I slammed the door of my locker shut as I scoffed. "Just save your breath for when you see Liam, okay? Then you can go ahead and preach about your damn faves all you want."

As the bell rang out, a group of guys sped down the hallway, their rowdy behavior explained by the varsity jackets they wore. When the coast became clear, Beatrice and I fell in step as we headed towards our first class. Around us, the other students began to do the same, the chatter fading into hushed whispers as the corridor began to empty.

"Well, wanna make a bet about which musical's gonna win the vote? I might have an idea," Beatrice nudged me as I began to untie the sleeves of the denim jacket that was wrapped around my waist.

"Sorry, I'd rather spend my money on something more worthwhile," I replied with a wink. "Like cigarettes."

"Whatever," Beatrice retorted before entering the room. I, however, had stayed back as I proceeded to put on my jacket. At this point, the hallway was almost empty, with only two lingering students that I could see from where I stood. Though I was unable to anticipate one more soul in the corridor as my eyes caught a fleeting shadow around the bend, a desperate glint in its bloodshot eyes before it vanished.

I felt a shiver run down my spine before I entered the classroom, not bothering to spare another glance behind me.

* * *

It came as a pleasant surprise to Erik when he received the news that he was being reassigned to Saunier.

He had been working in Avignon then when word of his reassignment was brought to him. Having stayed in Avignon for over five years, it came as a great relief to him when he realized that he was due for a change in scenery. Although he'd never been to Saunier, Erik could only hope that it wouldn't be too bad of a place, or that it was as overcrowded as Paris seemed to him these days. The trip to his new location was a short and an uneventful one, and when Erik had arrived in Saunier, he was actually pleased with what he saw.

The city was not overpopulated, something that he considered to be a good thing because, even after over a hundred years of walking on Earth, Erik had yet to grow used to the raucous crowds. It was not overly clamorous wherever he walked, and the sidewalks were only littered with very few souls at the current hour. Erik then took his sweet time walking to the address printed on the small card he held, the people walking around him oblivious to the man in black that they were passing by.

It was half past two when Erik arrived before a low-rise building. It was white, and he noticed that it only had two floors. It took up quite some space in the lot as it seemed sizable from the outside, and there were vines and potted plants lining the side of the building. Erik knew that he didn't need anyone's permission to enter the building, so he went ahead and climbed up the porch before going in through the glass double doors.

He was greeted with the sight of a spacious living room. With calculating eyes, Erik took in the large television on the far wall, the pair of black leather couches and the coffee table between them, the large bookshelf in the corner, and the walls that were painted a creamy white. He almost winced when he was done with the assessment. For such a large space, the place almost felt _empty_. Erik shrugged it off though, being more than used to living with emptiness.

But he grew alarmed when he saw a man enter the living room. He had supposedly come from one of the adjoining rooms ― perhaps the kitchen, Erik quietly guessed as he stared at the stranger with narrowed eyes.

"My, my," the man said in an amused voice. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be roommates with the Phantom of the Opera himself."

Erik arched a dark brow. "You live here?"

The man ruffled his curly blonde hair as he approached Erik. "I arrived here four years ago. The reaper who was here before me was reassigned to Montpellier just last year. Can't say I'm not thrilled now that you're here."

The man seemed too happy with the prospect of becoming roommates with the Opera Ghost himself, judging by the grin on his face which Erik eyed suspiciously. He dropped his suitcases when the man was close enough, his hand outstretched towards Erik.

"I'm Henri, by the way. You're Erik Destler, yes?"

Erik tried not to wince at the sound of his last name. Even after all these years, the name still didn't sit well on his tongue whenever he said it. "Just Erik," he answered, taking Henri's hand and giving it a firm shake before letting go.

"Just Erik then. I imagine you're feeling... _phantastic_ today?" Henri remarked before laughing at his own pun.

 _Oh God_. Erik stared at Henri with an exasperated look on his face. He had not been in this city for one day yet and he was already dealing with the idiocy of other people. He ignored Henri as the man continued to laugh, and Erik picked up his suitcases before making a beeline for the staircase in the corner.

"Which floor is your room on?" Erik asked before stopping before the stairs. Every apartment granted to the reapers in each city always had exactly four rooms for those assigned to the area. If Henri was speaking the truth, then it was only going to be the two of them residing under one roof for some time.

"I'm ― here, the first floor," Henri replied as he began wheezing.

"Good," Erik snapped before proceeding upstairs. There was no way that he was staying on the same floor with the man.

* * *

The set-up of the two rooms on the second floor were the same. Not that Erik really cared, but he had just wanted to check first. He now stood in the large space (why was the whole place so damn spacious?) of the first bedroom, the sliding door of the window on the wall pushed aside to allow some air into the room. Erik then began to methodically unpack his things.

He left his violin for last, leaving the instrument in its case which he gently placed in the corner. It was nearing four in the afternoon when Erik finished with his things. Though the cream color of the walls of his room (why was every wall in this apartment painted cream? it was so _dull_ ) was not to his taste, there was ultimately nothing that he could do about it, since giving the place a new paint job was not an option unless he wanted one of the gods to give him a tongue-lashing.

Erik pulled at the collar of the black turtleneck he wore as he perched himself at the edge of his bed. Now that there was nothing left for him to do, since he was finished unpacking, a hollowness began to settle within his chest as he perused the space around him. The silence was nearing a deafening degree when Erik stood up and began to pace around in circles. The slight thrill of having been reassigned was now gone, and it very much felt like the burnout he experienced whenever the high of a drug wore off. Not that he had done drugs recently ― in fact, the last time had been over a hundred years ago, back when he still resided beneath the Opéra Populaire...

Erik blinked hard to stop his thoughts before they could completely stray to his past, back when he was still a living, breathing man with a beating heart. But he was too late when he remembered that he would have no blood to spare if he cut himself, or that there would not be a pulse he can feel for if he placed his fingers against his own pale skin.

He truly was the living dead. Not only did he have the face for it, but he also now had the sentence to accompany it.

His fingers brushed against the cool porcelain of his mask when he heard the soft patter of rain outside. Glancing at his open window, Erik saw that there was a drizzle outside, though the skies remained bright in the afternoon heavens. The air that permeated his room grew cool. He went to close the window when he felt it, a sudden, jarring skip of his frozen heart that made his breath hitch. A silent gasp escaped his lips as he stopped in his steps.

It could only mean one thing.

The window was forgotten as Erik walked towards his desk instead. There was a chair before it where he had draped his coat over. He reached into the pocket of his black coat when his fingers brushed over the unmistakable surface of an envelope.

Erik drew in a steadying breath as he pulled the envelope out and into the light.

Someone was going to die.

* * *

I could not concentrate during my first class. It was not because algebra was the topic being discussed, but it was because of something else entirely.

It started with the air that surrounded me. I felt the temperature drop, the hair on my nape bristling as I felt a chill crawl beneath my skin. Then a weight settled in my chest, the new, heavy feeling causing my pulse to escalate painfully. My grip on my pen tightened, the tip of it leaving the notebook I'd been writing on as my eyes darted away from notes and to my side. I only saw Hector first, my seatmate, his stare glued to the whiteboard in front of the class.

I shook my head, blinking hard.

Then the shadow finally came into view.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Or, more specifically, _her_.

 _Please, no._

The white shirt and the jeans that she'd been wearing when I first saw her were still the same, in the way she wore them and the way it still bore the splatter of red over where her heart used to beat. The bloodstain had not faded to a brown, rusted color even after all these years, as it remained red as ever, vibrant and vivid as if she'd only sustained the wound moments earlier. But the truth was that the stab wound that had killed her was one that she had received over two years ago.

And she had yet to leave to place where her body was found.

" _Simone_ ," I heard her whisper to me, her voice tinged with despair. "Please, listen to me."

I involuntarily flinched when I realized that she had lowered her lips to my ear to whisper to me. I dropped my pen. She was so damn close that I had to hold my breath to keep my growing panic in. In front of the class, my teacher Miss Binoche carried on discussing, oblivious to the spectral intruder in her class, while my classmates continued on listening, jotting down notes, or doodling on the margins of their notebooks. I shouldn't be surprised; of course I was the only who could see her. I just desperately wish that that wasn't the case.

One would think that even after a lifetime of seeing ghosts, I'd grown used to seeing them and hearing them. But that's not the case. At least, not with me.

 _Please, please. Go away._

I curled into myself as I burrowed my head into my arm, the denim of my jacket touching my forehead. She was still whispering, begging for me to listen to her and to look at her and to help her find whoever had done this to her―

I bolted up from my seat, my chair scraping across the ground as Miss Binoche fellt silent and the whole class' eyes went to me.

"Miss," I began, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "May I be excused?"

She must have been too stunned by my behavior that she simply gave me a nod and gestured to the door.

Once I was out in the corridor, my feet immediately led me to the comfort rooms. I saw a student leaving as I made my way in, and it was much to my relief when I saw that the place was empty.

But of course it wasn't. I didn't have the space all to myself because she had followed me.

"Simone, _please_. Only you can see me," she pleaded. Her bleeding reflection was beside me when I looked at the mirror and I tried not to shiver when I saw her. Her bloodshot eyes were on me.

" _Go away_ ," I bit out before turning on the faucet and proceeding to splash my face with cold water.

"I'm never gonna stop until you help me," she then said, her tone having a slight edge to it now that I'd began to push her away. It was always like this, always every damn week. She always came to me at least once a week to beg for my help, which I always adamantly refused to give. She'd been dead for over two years, and I was not about to go on a wild-goose chase to solve her death.

"It's a good thing that I'm leaving next year then," I taunted, turning the faucet off as I kept my eyes down to keep them from meeting hers in the mirror. By now, I was sure that there would be a fire blazing in them ― after all, how patient could she still be after haunting the halls of this school for two years without having anyone to listen to her?

"I'll follow you," she growled. A humorless laugh left my lips. If someone would walk in on me at this very moment, there would be no doubt that they'd think me crazy. But I wasn't. I was only scared. And tired, _so_ tired of this.

"I don't think so," I replied, my voice lowering into a whisper to prevent it from trembling. "Besides, I don't think you have it in you to _move on_."

All the doors of the cubicles slammed shut the moment the scathing remark left my lips. I flinched at the jarring sound as I shut my eyes tight, waiting for whatever this lost, malevolent soul had in mind to do next.

My nails bit into the skin of my palm as I tightened my fists when I felt her lips inch closer to my ears again, a chill riding down my spine when I heard her voice laced with muted anger.

"If only you could see," she whispered to me with simmering fury. "If only you could see my pain ― you'd _understand_."

When I opened my eyes, she was gone, and my reflection was the only one I saw in the mirror.

* * *

The rain was light as Erik made his way through the streets of Saunier.

The drizzle had yet to escalate into a downpour, so Erik didn't bother to bring an umbrella with him; he could handle a little rain. He was in no rush as his gait was lithe and even while he walked on the sidewalk, the unmasked side of his face cool and slick with the little drops of rain that landed on his bare skin. The area surrounding him had been empty at first, but as he gained distance, he noticed a growing file of people coming opposite the direction he was coming from, with most of them holding umbrellas above their heads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that these people passing him by were of a specific age range. They all looked to be in their late teens and they had the boisterous behavior that corresponded with their age. Erik silently reckoned that they could be just coming from school, considering what time it was.

On another day, Erik would have eyed them distastefully as they made loud exchanges about pop culture, school work, and whatnot while using crude language, but his mind was too engrossed on another matter at the moment. The chatter coming from the teenagers fell on Erik's deaf ears as he found himself focusing on the weight in his coat's pocket, a reminder of what was to come and what he was about to do.

It was all that he could think of, the next soul that was set to meet its demise on that day. But Erik didn't pity them, no. Many people feared death, yes, as they saw it as a terrible end to an existence that they refused to let go of. But sometimes, death was actually a sweet release, a blessing that some people even wished for. He had been in that same position a long time ago, after all. The regret that followed though was an entirely different story.

His stream of thought was disrupted when an uncanny feeling washed over him. Erik's pace slowed down as he noticed something stir in the air, something _off_. The card in his pocket was pushed out of his mind when his eyes left the space before him and drifted to the people passing him by. He knew that they wouldn't be able to see him unless he wanted them to, so why did he feel as it someone was watching him?

Then he found it. Or, more specifically, _her_.

Erik's stare found her, and her eyes were wide as she stared back at him. Something was indeed _wrong_ , Erik realized, since this girl should not be able to see him. But there she was, staring straight at him. So what in the world was happening? His fingers twitched with alarm. Then taking cautious steps, Erik continued walking, and so did the girl in her own slow pace. As the distance between them grew smaller, his eyes didn't leave her as his mind tried to rationalize the situation. Only then did it hit him.

If this girl could see him, then it could only mean one thing.

People who possessed the sixth sense were rare, but Erik's encounters with such people were rarer ― so rare, in fact, that it almost always slipped his mind that if these people could see ghosts, they could also see reapers such as him.

As he belatedly realized this, relief flooded Erik's veins. Now that he understood, he began to assess the girl instead, with her hair of honey, the denim jacket she wore, and the navy blue umbrella she held. Her lips were parted in an unreadable expression, probably from surprise. Erik narrowed his eyes at her as she finally passed him by, her head turning behind her shoulder as she continued to stare at him when she was past him. For a second, Erik felt his temper flare, his vision growing red ― sure, staring was rude, but it was an act made all the worse for him considering the fact that he wore a mask.

Wait. Did the girl even know what he was? After all, he didn't bear the wounds that a ghost usually possessed, markings that distinguished them from the living as they bore the injuries that caused their death. Being a reaper, he possessed none of the wounds that he bore before his death, much like any other reaper he knew.

Erik had stopped walking then as he found himself unable to take his eyes off the girl. She was still near enough, but she had not stopped walking, her feet taking small steps away from him as she continued to stare. His hands curled into fists then as Erik felt compelled to frighten the insolent girl just so she could take her eyes off him, go on her own way, and mind her own business. But he stilled himself when he saw her eyes ― her eyes, which had curiosity swimming in them, along with the faintest trace of fear.

Erik then gritted his teeth. _Of course_ she would be curious about the mask. People always were.

With a shake of his head, Erik turned on his heel and resumed walking. He was already dead, but it seemed that he was still far from finished when it came to dealing with the folly of people.


End file.
